


What you won't do for love

by Scriptor



Category: All Elite Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fun Times!, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptor/pseuds/Scriptor
Summary: Roman's POV: Crossed lines.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	What you won't do for love

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care what anyone says; I'd like to think these two still have some kind of crazy connection and I got it in my head that they watch each other on TV and just pine away. May write one from Jon's POV also.

It’s funny how accustomed you can become to the daily grind; the show, then the drive to some other unidentifiable city, another nondescript hotel room. It’s all one big blur of lights, sound, colors, people. Faceless beings who cheer for you, boo at you, high five you then talk behind your back. But it’s work and you do it. But it’s not been the same, not since Seth became the face of Raw and me, the Smackdown king. And really not since Jon went to AEW. The empty aching chasm gnaws at me, drives me to consider vices I hadn’t thought about in ages. Definitely don’t need another wellness policy violation but goddamn if something to numb this pain doesn’t sound good right about now.

It’s a Wednesday and I’m laying in another hotel bed, flipping through insta and messaging family. I note that the clock just turned 8 and I get an idea; one I hadn’t entertained in a bit because I told myself I wasn’t allowed to. Something compels me though and I reach for the remote, flipping the TV to TNT. AEW’s opening theme is admittedly better than WWE’s bullshit these days. I gotta hand it to them: they peddle a good product and they make their people happy. I’m always impressed they still have pyro. I miss pyro; it felt bigger and more impactful. But we had to cut corners somewhere.

Good ol’ JR’s voice announces the start of the show and I feel nostalgic all of a sudden. His voice just signifies wrestling in its purest form. But maybe it’s because I grew up with that. He and Schiavone banter back and forth and the promos start in: Young Bucks address Kenny and Hangman, yeah yeah. Oh, fuck. There’s what I wasn’t ready for: Jericho will do a weigh-in… with Jon. My heart races at the thought of seeing him on my screen. We’ve been… distant for a while. He hates phones and sometimes I text him and it’s days before I get even a stunted reply. I know he doesn’t mean it like that; he’s not being mean or anything. Just the way the guy is. But I miss him; miss traveling to other cities and eating at BW3s, drinking beers and just chillin’ together. I miss the comfort of him.

I sit through an hour and 45 minutes of admittedly good quality wrestling entertainment and then he appears: an eye patch from a previous Inner Circle encounter, sleeveless hoodie, big ass boots. Lord. I don’t want to admit how the look of him makes me feel. Our… relationship never had any defined boundaries or labels so to say I wasn’t attracted to him would be off-base. It went beyond friendship, that’s for damn sure. But was it anything more? I don’t know and maybe he doesn’t either. But I’d be a damn liar if I said I wasn’t fucking turned on by his aggression towards Jericho, how fucking vicious he was. I leaned back on the bed and watched as the fight turned into chaos in the ring. Jericho’s henchmen went after my boy and Jericho babied it up on the ropes. I love that AEW pushes the blood boundaries; sometimes wonder if they haven’t gone back to the old blading techniques. Because fuck the new rules; give the people what they want.

Right now, all I can think about is what I want. I want Jon back in my bed, underneath me. Not ashamed to admit it because I already let myself cross that line. I watched the damn show, let him get under my skin again. And my cock wasn’t letting me forget how I felt about him either. I let my hands wander down, then started thinking about all the things I missed about Jon. God, his tapered waist, the way his ginger beard feels on my lips, the way he’s so quiet and controlled until I make him wait for it - get him right on the edge - then obscenities fall from his mouth like crazy. He could never help himself once I was inside him. Just remembering how tight he always felt around my cock had me harder than steel and I wasn’t about to stop now. Using one hand to shove my sweats down, I took myself in hand and reveled in the feeling. Then, an idea struck. Grabbing my phone, I found the best angle and lighting and yeah, I sent Jon a dick pic. I was a little embarrassed, my heart racing. What would he think? We’d done all sorts of unspeakable things in the past but definitely never this. 

He didn’t answer right away. I imagined he was in the locker room, getting ready to leave. Maybe he didn’t give a shit about me anymore; I don’t know. We’d grown apart and maybe he was ready to be done with that chapter of life. When he didn’t answer back, I felt a little rejected and took to scrolling through my pic gallery - at old pictures we’d taken together. I’m talking three, four years ago, Shield times, right after Shield. Stupid selfies, pictures of dumb shit Jon found funny like a cactus that looked like a penis. Seeing his image did nothing to quell my desire for him; I was harder than ever, stroking lazily, taking my time, basking in the feeling as I thought about all the stuff he and I did together.

Suddenly, a text scrolled across the top of my screen just as I’d landed on a pic I’d taken of Jon - one he didn’t want me to. He was naked on a hotel room bed, sprawled out and sleepy, giving me the finger. My attention was torn between his tanned skin and perfect form and the text that read:

“Gotdamn Ro, what’re you doing to me?”

“Giving you a show, uce.” I replied. A minute passed and another text chimed in, this time with a pic attached. Jon was clearly in his car and the shot was straight down of his hand pulling out his gym shorts waistband, revealing his beautiful curved cock, hard across his abdomen.

“Baby, you ain’t helping my problem here.”

“I don’t see this as a problem.” he typed, adding on a wink emoji.

I had to chuckle; it definitely wasn’t a problem but might could make things complicated.

A beat later, another text came in. “Show me more.” I was getting pretty damn close and even though common sense told me not to, I decided to forgo the picture this time and I just called him. Soon as his face came on my screen, the feeling that’d been coiling in my gut kicked and I was closer than ever.

“Dude, I am in my car in a parking lot… but don’t stop.” Jon was dead serious and something about his tone spurred me on. I turned on the front facing camera and gave him what he wanted. I took myself in hand and stroked the way I knew he would have done: forcefully, roughly, and with a slight twist right as I reached the head. Give a little squeeze here and there. Making this about him now and less about myself and how I felt about the guy made me even hotter. I threw in some sighs and grunts, really getting into it the way I knew Jon liked. He liked it loud and vocal, dirty even. I could hear Jon shift and offer little words of encouragement. ‘Yeah babe, like that. Doing so good.’

I knew I wasn’t going to last long and what the fuck, I wasn’t about to hold back. I quickened my pace, turned the cam back to my face and licked my lips. “You ready, babe? Ready for my cum?”

“Fuck, Ro. Yeah, let me see it.”

Turning the phone back around, I let myself fall under the spell of impending orgasm and shot far, all up my abs and chest, writhing with the waves of pleasure and milking my cock until every drop was spent. Taking a second to compose myself, I turned the cam back to see Jon’s face, a little ashen, his pupils blown wide and a familiar smirk that maybe only I had ever seen.

“Where you at? I’m coming to you.” He was serious too; I knew him too well to know he wouldn’t fuck around like that.

“Atlanta.” I replied.

“Be there in three or four. Don’t do anything else without me.” Jon let out a devious little chuckle and ended the call. I had to laugh at what transpired; I wasn’t even going to watch TV and then, through some twist of fate, Jon was on his way back to me, to my arms.


End file.
